Nine Lives
by Inara
Summary: An understanding found, as Snape attempts to move on from his past and into a possible future.


**Title:** Nine Lives

**Author name:** Inara

**Author email:** Inara47@yahoo.com

**Category:** Angst

**Sub Category:** Drama

**Main Characters:** Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black (in spiritJ)

**Rating:** PG

**Pairing:** None

**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OoTP

**Story Summary:** An understanding found, as Snape attempts to move on from his past and into a possible future.

**DISCLAIMER:** This is a piece of fiction based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and her various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author notes: **Just a short ficlet until I get caught up in my other stories. Titania is responsible for inspiration!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                The doorknob was cool and brass and sturdy under his hand. And if he twisted his wrist a little to the right, the door would give way, and he could enter. 

                Severus walked past this door every night at seven o'clock sharp…hoping for…what? That the door would be open, so he could pause and step inside? But every time he walked by, the door would be shut.

                Sometimes, he would hear wretched sobs coming from inside, other times he would hear pacing, and sometimes, it would be completely silent.

                Silent like tonight.

                Severus sighed to himself. Such behavior was uncharacteristic of him – as was the unwelcome feeling of regret. And tonight, like all other nights spent in Number 12 Grimmauld Place, he would return to his room and follow his normal nighttime routine.

          An hour later, in the darkness of his room, Severus held his glass of whiskey to the firelight. 

                When it got bad, he would look for solace, for oblivion, in drink and in pain. And though it had stopped working a long time ago, he kept trying anyway. What else could he do?

                For him, the anguish had never come from not knowing. It was the things he did know, the things he had learned through years of slavery, the things he had created with his knowledge, the events he remembered, even the partial memories, from flashes of painful Death Eater meetings to glimpses of his childhood, indeed, the nightmares that caused him to wake up in the middle of the night, sweating and too panicked to remember that he was safe in his bed. The Dreamless Draught was supposed to be peaceful and free of the horrifying memories that made up his life, but his remained there, hiding in the darkness of his brain, and when he could not take it anymore, he would run again, in the only way he knew how. Many days he would go on without sleeping, relying on herbal stimulants to remain alert and active. But potions could not cheat life, and soon the memories would find him again, standing beside him in the daylight.

                Severus knew when he had been beaten, when he had lost. He could not find the solace, the oblivion, which he so desperately wanted. He did not want memories, he did not want a past, he did not want a cause or a reason or even redemption, regardless of what Dumbledore had said. He just wanted forgetfulness, the peaceful black, blank, nothingness.

                He knew it was there, hovering just out of reach. And he would keep pushing, as he spiraled downwards, closer and closer, as he reached for it, ached for it.

                But as always, it would slip through his fingers, eluding him like a fairy sprite in a meadow.

                And he would be there, hanging onto the thread of his existence, stretched toward the promise of nothingness, on the verge of breaking, except there was nothing to break into, nothing to break to. He was a broken man, after all, and perhaps that was what was holding him together. He had tried everything possible, hoping that one thing would lead to his promised land. 

                He had never known this joy, had lived so long without it, had wanted it, that he had become used to the bitter taste of discontent and unfulfilled yearning, the feel of deep insistence within his bones, more a part of him than his own blood.

                But one day. One day he would find it. Peace. Oblivion. Nothingness.

                Severus drank the whiskey as he turned back to the fight, to the search.

_A MONTH LATER…._

                "Just go inside, will you?" The annoyed voice made Severus falter as he turned around from his vigil near the door. It was Remus, a steaming mug of tea cupped in his hands. "Your pacing can drive even saints into madness."

                The words died in Severus's throat. Anyone else would not have asked why he was here, and if they did, they would have accepted his explanation. Not Remus, of course – he was blunt enough to say it. "I apologize for disturbing you," he said gruffly as he attempted to step past the werewolf.

                Remus sighed, his lined face a testimony to his weariness. "You are a strange one, Severus. You always apologize for the things that don't matter." He took a sip of his tea. "Why don't you go inside? It's not locked, you know, and even if it were, you'd be able to unlock it."

                Enough time had passed for Severus to recover. "That's not very courteous."

                The werewolf snorted. "Courtesy is for gentlemen, Severus, something that you and I cannot claim to be."

                "Not even you, Remus?"

                The golden eyes darkened. "Most especially not me." He looked towards the door. "I suppose you won't go in tonight." Severus gazed back blandly as a small smile quirked Remus's face. He nudged his door open. "Come inside. I don't like talking in the hallway." Normally, Severus would have declined, but something in the werewolf's eyes told him not to refuse, so he follow Remus into his room…well, lair. 

                The small room was decorated sparsely, but it was kept clean and warm. Remus arranged two chairs next to the fire and gestured for Severus to sit. "Tea?"

                "Yes, please." As Remus brewed another cup, Severus examined the lone painting on the wall.

                Remus, noticing the direction of his gaze, commented, "A lovely painting, isn't?"

                "It's a moon. I confess that I'm surprised you have it here…to remind you." If Remus was going to be blunt, then so was he.

                "I hate the moon, and I hate what it does to me," admitted Remus. "But that's who I am. A werewolf, remember?"

                "Not right now," Severus contradicted firmly as he accepted the tea. It was one of the things he repeated to himself. He was safe here, right now. And most of the time that was the biggest relief in his life. That although he was sitting in front of the werewolf who had, albeit unintentionally, almost killed him, he was at his safest in the protected house of Dumbledore, far away from Voldemort and his minions.

                Remus shook his head. "No, not right now." The men lapsed into silence again, neither of them wishing to disturb the peaceful quietness with words. And then, "You're not going to go inside, are you?" he finally asked.

                Severus determinedly kept his eyes on his tea as he took another sip, reveling in the hot liquid burning his throat. There was not much to say that he had not already said to himself before.

                "Severus, there's hesitant, and there's ridiculous," said Remus, except he had said it with the bluntness that Severus could never confront himself with. "And you know what? I think, that deep down inside, you're reveling in the anger and bitterness you feel. You _welcome_ it. This battle is so amazingly normal to you that it doesn't even seem you've been doing it."

                He tried not to gape at Remus, who was calmly dipping a biscuit into his tea – a habit undoubtedly gained from Dumbledore. But then again, out of all of the members in the Order, only Remus could really understand. All of them led harsh lives, but only Severus and Remus had truly hit rock bottom. Scraping a living out of gutters, both literarily and figuratively, left no room for being a child – especially when both of them had been the scum of society. "Like dipping your bloody biscuit into your tea?"

                "Yes," replied Remus, looking straight at him, uncomfortably straight, "exactly like that, but unlike you, I'm not scared about going to sleep. Of course, I still worry that when I get up in the morning, I'll discover that this was all a dream. But in any case, I won't waste it." And Severus found himself, against his better judgment, liking the conviction in Remus's voice, the fire in his amber eyes. In his lined and weary face, his eyes shone brilliantly as they stared into his. "And neither should you, Severus."

                "Waste not," rejoined Severus, a self-deprecating smile on his face. 

                "Waste not," echoed Remus. And then, seemingly out of the blue: "Isn't it time that you moved on? Isn't it time you said goodbye to Sirius?"

                The minutes ticked by, each second more deafening than the last. "Preposterous," said Severus scornfully. "Is this more of your meaningless psychoanalysis?"

                Remus gazed at Severus, his eyes hard, as if knowing that showing pity would be the wrong step. "It is preposterous," he admitted. "But then so are the circumstances." Severus opened his mouth to argue, but Remus kept on speaking. "You and Sirius have feuded for so long now – will it go to the grave?"

                "Has it not?"

                The werewolf sighed wearily. "Sirius has taken it to his grave, but will you take it to yours?" 

                Anger flashed in the potion master's eyes. "You overstep your bounds."

                "When it concerns you and Sirius, I always have," he answered calmly.

                Severus felt irritation boil within him. What right did this werewolf have in questioning him? And like all Gryffindors, Remus would not let the dead rest. But the sharp retort died in his throat when he saw the concern, carefully hidden behind the self-righteous anger, in the bright amber eyes Severus had always secretly admired. But how could he express to Remus why he did the things he did? Why he could not let go of Sirius without forgiving him, and how he could not forgive Sirius without forgiving himself. 

                As he sought for ways to answer without really answering, he sneaked a glance at Remus's face. It was always hard to tell what was going on beneath that calm exterior. He was very good at hiding his feelings under that kind, clever, and blunt persona he wore like a cloak. _In another world, he would have been an excellent Death Eater_, he wondered to himself. _In another world, he would have been an excellent friend_.

                But men like Severus did not have friends, just as they did not have their own lives. 

                Perhaps reading his mind, Remus spoke softly. "I've always wanted to be your friend, you know. But you never let me."

                "I never wanted a friend," sneered Severus.

                Remus continued as if had not heard his companion. "But ever since I knew you, you've had 'property' written all over you."

                The sneer slid from the potion master's face. "Property of who?" he asked sharply, against his better judgment.

                The subject made Remus uncomfortable, but he went on anyway. "Darkness? Voldemort? Dumbledore? All three of them, I suppose."

                And Severus found that he could not argue, could not protest at what was the truth. It had been so long since he had belonged wholly to himself. The darkness had claimed him when he had been but a babe, and it had only been a short time later when Voldemort had found him. Dumbledore's possession of him had been more recent, and deep down, he realized that he had that in common with the werewolf seated in front of him. Both had been pulled out of nightmares and into something that neither could have imagined. And Severus knew that they both owed Dumbledore more than life. A chance, hope. They owed Dumbledore a dream. Yet he still murmured, in the softest of whispers because he knew Remus's werewolf ears would pick it up, "I'm not anyone's property," because Remus would understand what he meant, and more importantly, what he had not meant.

                Silence reigned for several minutes, and then, "What a pair we are," exclaimed Remus. "You and I, a veritable pair of Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde!"

                "I didn't know you dabbled in Muggle literature," commented Severus idly.

                "I made an exception for that story," said Remus seriously, and Severus wondered: did Remus see himself as a Jekyl and Hyde? "Both of us switch between personas, never allowed to remain one person." A pause, and then, "But I'm glad that you saw me as I really am, the part of me I try so hard to deny." He was referring to the incident in the Shrieking Shack, of course, when he had been in werewolf form, long before the creation of Wolfsbane potion. "And I'm glad you saw me, Severus. If there were one person in the entire world I would share myself with, it would be you."

                "Why?" he asked, curious.

                Remus shrugged. "I guess it's because only you could ever understand the necessary duality in my nature. And in yours."

                No words could possibly summarize how much that meant to him, on how many levels it touched him. But he tried anyway. "Likewise." He allowed a small smile to cross his face. "You're a very scary person, Remus."

                It had been the right thing to say, because those amber eyes lit in a smile. "Then I suppose it's a good thing we're on the same side."

                 "I'm tired," blurted Severus. "I don't think it will be long now." No one had ever said it aloud before. People had thought about it, of course. Even Potter had shown an unusual circumspectness. But with Remus, if felt right to be blunt, to be truthful. It was as if anything else would let the werewolf down.

                "The end?"

                Severus nodded. "The end." He remembered a conversation he had with Sirius during a meeting of the Order, shortly before his death. 

                _"You must remain hidden, Black! We need an element of surprise, and you're it. Voldemort-"_

_                "We've beaten Voldemort before, and we'll beat him again," interrupted Sirius, his voice insistent, his tone almost chiding, as if Severus had not completed his lessons. "A young boy put him away, and I still have faith in that young boy. We'll beat him again. We'll always beat him. Light is on our side. Don't you believe that? What are you fighting for if not that?" His voice had risen, and the group around them smiled and cheered, their hope restored. And Severus had looked at Sirius, his haggard face for once sweet and clear, his brow as smooth as heaven, his eyes full of the courage of the untried._

_                Finally, he said, "But we have to go on winning, again and again and again. Voldemort has to win only once."_

_                Sirius had kept his gaze firm. "We won't lose," and he said it with such conviction that Severus himself almost believed him._

                It had been easy to believe at the time, but now that Sirius was dead, he had taken his exuberance and hope with him.

                Now that Sirius was dead…

                Severus wrapped his arms around himself, dimly aware of Remus staring at him in concern. "The hour is late, Remus. I think it's time I sought my bed."

                Remus didn't protest as he followed Severus to the door. "Severus…" the werewolf paused. "Once, we talked about fate, and you said that yours was already decided, that your grave had already been dug. But I don't think that's true. I think that every second of your life has been important, and every second counts because you chose what happens. Your life is not Voldemort's property, or Dumbledore's. It's yours and no one else's. But you have to be careful, because the seconds pass by quickly, and time moves on." He reached over and clasped Severus's shoulder. "I don't want you to forget what happened, but I don't want to see you wallow in it either."

                Severus could not stop his mouth from quirking. "You're a scary man, Remus."

                "Then I suppose it's a good thing we're on he same side." He held open the door. "If you need anything…"

                "You know I won't," said Severus.

                "I wish you would," admitted Remus.

                But Severus would never need anything, would never even ask if he did. He only pulled the cloak of control around himself and said goodnight, walking back to his room at a sedate pace, gripping onto his legendary composure. For him, control and composure had always been like armor. Hard. But hard was only a small step from being brittle, and already he could feel the cracks – that cracks that made him a broken man.

                Severus walked back to his room.

                And in front of his fire, he turned to his whiskey.

_TWO YEARS LATER…_

                He was alone in the house, although in a few moments, members of the Order would be crawling all over it. He stood in his old room, the place Mrs. Weasley had prepared for him to stay in, the room that had nothing in it except for several empty bottles of whiskey.

                Not all empty. Not the last one.

                So he did what he always did. He started the fire, shrugged off his cloak, and found a clean glass. But this time, instead of drinking in his room, he left and walked down the hallway. 

                It was the door again, and under his hand, the doorknob was cool and brass and sturdy. And if he twisted his wrist a little to the right, the door would give way, and he could enter. 

                He hesitated for a few moments, but finally, he stepped inside. Inside into Sirius's room. And for the first time in many years, ever since he had become a student at Hogwarts, he allowed himself the luxury of three words.

                "It isn't fair."

                The room around him was silent. Obviously. Sirius was no ghost, and even if he were, he would not be haunting _this_ place. "I'm here to make peace with you, Black. Although I've waited until the last minute." Severus took a long drink of his whiskey. "You can thank Remus for this. The bloody fool tried to give me advice a few years ago, and it's been hard to forget."

                He took a seat near the fireplace, imagining that Sirius was seated in front of him. "I've been angry with you for so long, and I don't really remember why anymore. All I remember is that I hate you." He lifted the whiskey bottle, not even bothering with the glass.

                "But a man can only hold so much hatred inside himself, and I'm sure you'll agree that I've done quite a good job of it." He drank some more, the burning in his throat _real_, letting him know he was still alive. 

                "So many things went wrong. So many things. Wrong." Severus fell silent as he thought about what had happened in the past few years.

                "It was all wrong to start with." He looked into the chair opposite him, almost imagining another hostile, dark-haired man. "All I remembered was that I hated you. And for a while, that was enough. Even last month, I was angry with you. But now, now I just feel drained. And I'm tired, Black!"

                More whiskey. "I'm not sure why I even continue hating you, especially since I don't care to remember why. I'm not even sure I want the answers. After all, those answers are easy. All I have to do is pick a solution and then move on with my life. I won't even have to think about it anymore."

                "But life isn't like arithmancy. You can't solve it, you can't predict it. You can only keep on working, keep on going, or you have to stop."

                "I chose to revisit old events, old decisions, and I kept on reopening old wounds, so I never got on with my life."

                The door slammed downstairs, and he heard a distinctive _clunking_. Mad-Eye. 

                "I gave up. It was the path of least resistance. It runs down, you know? And it's the quickest route to the bottom – the place that I always try to go to but can never seem to get to." But as he brought the whiskey bottle to his lips, he stopped. "I think I've had enough." He put the bottle back down, his hands remarkably steady.

                "Enough. Enough of this." He stood and walked over to the empty chair. "I have to take too many things to the grave – I would rather not take this."

                Tonight was the night, the night that they would finally attack Voldemort. Finally, they were on the offensive. And Severus knew that tonight either he or Voldemort would die. The Dark Lord was now aware of his treachery, and there was no way it would be overlooked.

                A sense of foreboding filled him, and he knew, he _knew_, that this war was greater than any man, both him and Sirius, and just like it had taken Sirius, it would take him as well, and turn them into the same dust. 

                He took his bottle of whiskey and stepped out onto the balcony, where it was just him and the stars. And the tears…the tears that he could have stopped if he tried. The heaving, wracking sobs that tore out of him with an intensity that he had never felt before. 

                "I can't handle this. Not alone."

                But then, somewhere, perhaps somewhere deep inside, where he had kept the memory of Sirius alive, a voice came. _"You aren't alone. You've never been alone."_

                The voices grew louder. Mrs. Weasley was shouting, Tonks was pacing. "I've had enough," he repated. He stood, smoothed his hair and his clothes, and then stepped through the doorway. But Severus did not hurry. He walked straight, with his head held high.

                He was Severus Snape, Potions Master.

                "I can handle this. I have to," he whispered to himself, to the air. 

_FOUR HOURS LATER…_

                _See Sirius, we've won, just like you said._

                No words passed as the Death Eaters circled around their prisoner. Although they wore masks, Severus had known most of them for so long that he was able to distinguish them by the way they moved, their heights, their smell. 

                One of them came behind him and pushed him down until he was on his knees. The masked man pulled out his wand. They had lost the battle, but that would not stop them from retribution on the one who had betrayed them.

                Severus raised his eyes as a ruthless joy filled him. He could see the oblivion in his horizon, and he knew he was on the verge of transformation. The burden of his life slipped from him like a weight of rocks, and his memories became hazy. He now felt as light as air.

                "Bow your head." It was Avery.

                "No."

                Green light emitted from the wand. 

                _I've won too._

*End*


End file.
